


The Origin of a Reaper

by Psianabel



Category: Final Fantasy Type-0
Genre: Gen, Gore, Violence, exploring the character, gore-y, not that much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4789586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psianabel/pseuds/Psianabel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"With a scythe in her hand death was the only option - no one made it out alive once she had her eyes on her enemy. Not even when she was 12." Rated M for violence/gore. Sice's character exploration when she is under Arecia's supervision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Origin of a Reaper

The first time Sice felt so much anger and hatred inside her she was 12.  
  
With sharp stern eyes she swept her gaze across the room, her lungs burning from breathing the air that smelt like sweat and blood. The metallic air hung in her nose, reminded her where she was … and what she was doing.  
  
The scythe in her hand - almost too big for her to fit in her hands, aching from the hard grip around the shaft because she feared it would fly out of her hand because of her sweaty hands – dripped red from the blood of the bodies that were scattered across the dusty ground.  
  
Death was always a close companion in her life, she had seen things that should be way too much for a little girl to handle, and yet she didn't back down at the sight of this much blood. Never ever she had seen so much blood in one place.  
  
It didn't bother her. Not at all.  
  
Inhaling and swallowing she prepared for her next attack, struck out to the soldier that ran in her way. They felt _different_ than the usual enemies she faced in her prior training she absolved in this special room, their moves differed from individual to individual – there were no real patterns in their actions, keeping Sice on her toes without a rest.  
  
They felt _alive._  
  
She could see their horror in their eyes when they entered the battleground, every single one had the same change of expression when they saw her, fearing their _lives_ when they stormed to her as an attempt to survive.  
  
But of course no one lived through the slaughtering of the little girl with her still-too-big scythe, leaving only cut limbs and bodies behind. Sweat ran in her eyes, making them red from exhaustion and all she wanted was to make it _stop_.  
  
It was enough, never she was that long in this room – her body screamed for her to stop this, but she didn't. She _couldn't._  
  
_Remember where you are coming from._  
  
Another soldier went down under the force of her attack, the scream of him made her wince. It was a cry of death, haunting her ever since she stepped foot in place. And yet when the body slumbered down on the ground she felt the strings of his soul in her hands – a fine line of an aura swirled around her digits to the soldier she cut down right now.  
  
Mother called it “phantoma” and said it was an essence of the soul that buried inside them – ripping this out would mean the ultimate end of the person.  
  
And for Sice it became a normal ritual every time a soldier winced under her scythe, begging her _not_ to do anything.  
  
The cry of the soldier died out quickly in the room, the scream echoing for a few seconds in the hall, leaving only a dead silence that hurt in the ears. But for Sice it was _loud_ , too loud she couldn't even hear the door opening to the next two soldiers that had the same exact expression like the prior one.  
  
Her heart thumped in her chest, it was heavy and made her ears ring. She was _exhausted_ and sore – too many soldiers died under her scythe, too many phantoma danced in her hand before she harvested it, too many times she dodged an incoming assault of an angst ridden soldier.  
  
And yet it felt like her energy wasn't going empty at all. Every slash might hurt her arm, every dodge let her legs ache, but she could go on forever with this – as long as there was an enemy there was no way she would stop.  
  
It was _addicting_ , feeling the lives of these soldiers in her hand when she played with their phantoma in her hand and the way she gathered them inside her, absorbing their last emotions with it.  
  
These emotions … fear, anger, hatred – they _fed_ her, making her strong to no end. They boiled inside her and gave her this enormous energy that had no limit, embracing her body in a strength that was scary and hideous. It s _hould_ be scary and _should_ make her feel sick, but if felt _so_ good, made her feel powerful and light on her feet – like a drug that she couldn't keep her hands from.  
  
She couldn't contain this pure energy inside her, the hatred and anger from the people she killed was too much for her body to handle – it materialized around her as a red glowing aura and pulsated, yet even danced around her blood-strained scythe. It was intimidating, frightened and downright horrifying to see such a little girl pushed into this.  
  
Sice didn't know what to do with this energy, how she could compensate this feeling of anger inside her when it grew stronger with every slaughtered soldier instead of making her weaker like it should be.  
  
If she did nothing she gets killed, if she did fight them she would absorb even more hatred that fueled her glowing aura – her malice – and made her stronger with every dead person that died under her scythe.  
  
Only one option she could consider in this situation – failing was definitely not on her list and and if that meant she had to bear even more of this energy, so be it.  
  
With quick feet she caught one soldier off guard and knocked him down with a precise slash of her scythe against his legs, letting him face first hitting the ground with a thump. A muffled groan escaped him when she set her foot on his back, pressing the heels of her boots against him while she eyed the other soldier standing only a few meters away. His expression changed to mortified and terrified, backing away from her out of the _fear_ of death that lingered in the air.  
  
_Remember what they did to you._  
  
Sweat ran down her temples when she struck out her scythe, not even wasting a glance at the soldier wincing under her boots and immediately she felt this rush of new strength flowing through her body, tingling the ends of her nerves that felt like cool air swirling around her.  
  
But instead it was the malice that glowed even harder now, dripping red from the absorbed hatred of the soldier. Just another dead body that fed her anger, just another harvested phantoma that fueled her rage – nothing more, nothing less.  
  
She locked eyes with the remaining soldier who backed so far away that he hit the end of the room with his back, the cold wall only a reminder that he would soon share his comrade's fate. With the back of her hand Sice smeared away the blood running down her cheek when she slowly walked over to the whimpering man who clutched his hands against the wall behind him out of desperation.  
  
_This could be you if you're not fighting._  
  
“Pathetic” she spat before she grabbed hard her scythe once again and swung her full weight in the following attack, ramming her weapon with all her strength in the body of the soldier that cut him directly in half – the adrenaline rush combined with the familiar feeling of the new absorbed hatred let her bloodlust increase immense, leaving her in a dizzy and hazy state where she only reacted on her instincts.  
  
_Do you see now what they did to you, why you almost starved to death._  
  
The malice was getting heavy on her shoulders, overwhelming her a little bit too much for her liking, but she couldn't stop craving this feeling of power inside her – making it clear that she wasn't a little girl anymore; she was much more now.  
  
So when the next wave of enemies approached her she mowed them down one after another, giving each one of them the same treatment without exception – death by her scythe. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the last one backing away on the ground when she took her sweet time playing with the aura of the phantoma in her hand before she ripped it out. She turned to him with the new found strength which washed away the soreness and exhaustion that lingered in her muscles and bones, giving her release of the suppressed pain.  
  
Pain and fear had no reason to stay inside of her, she blocked those emotions out, _hid_ them to embrace the full power of the malice.  
  
It made her feel _inhuman._  
  
“What- What are you?”  
  
Sice's eyes only twitched at the odd question coming from the whimpering mess of a soldier under the force of her boot against his ribs, blood coughing up that gathered in his lungs from inner injuries, giving him no chance to speak again.  
  
“What a dumb question.”  
  
She didn't let him suffer from his confusion and pressed down with her foot before the blade of her scythe hit his head to end him once and for all.  
  
Of course it was an absurd question; she was Sice – one of twelve children of Arecia Al-Rashia and there was the end of that. There was nothing confusing about it, she was a normal child like everybody else here.  
  
“Okay, that is enough now.”  
  
The voice ringed in her ears and stirred something in her – like hitting a light switch that went from on to off.  
  
As if it was a command Sice dematerialized her weapon in a flash and turned around to the exit of the room where the voice was coming from, the bloodlust suddenly gone from her at the familiar voice that soothed over her like a gentle whisper.  
  
The malice still swirled around her and engulfed her upper body in a faint red glow, but it didn't let her crave to go on fighting – the hatred still lingered inside her, but it had no impact on her anymore.  
  
The effect of it was just _gone,_ washed away from the very familiar voice that brought her calmness every time she heard it. It felt like magic in her ears and she trusted this voice with her life.  
  
“Mother,” Sice said with a rough exhausted voice when she jogged over to the woman waiting at the exit who apparently stood there the whole time, waiting for Sice to come to her, “how was I?”  
  
“Wonderful, darling.” Her voice was as calming as ever, immediately soothing away any exhausting that lingered in Sice's bones. There was a small pause for Sice to take in those words, “Just like I expected.”  
  
Hearing this made Sice smile and she beamed, holding that compliment close to her heart. Every single word coming from Mother was important to her, it kept her going, made her feel _special_ and loved – just what a girl at this age needed. Sice looked up to her and was welcomed with a gentle smile.  
  
“Are you feeling alright?” She continued, holding her hand out for Sice to take it. “Let's clean you up first and you can tell me about your experience in the meantime, yes? I want to know everything you felt.”  
  
“Yes Mother.”  
  
The girl took Arecia's hand and walked away with her, ambling along a dark hallway and jumped slightly with a smile on her face.  
  
If Mother was proud of her, she was proud of herself, too. And for her it was the most normal thing in the world – because she was just a little girl in her heart with a loving Mother by her hand, feeling safe and loved.


End file.
